Raven's Bride by Kate Silver Read Free Book Online Page A

reminded herself sharply, and she was a foolish girl to be troubled by what looked like hunger in his eyes. She ought to see deeper into his heart and judge him by his actions, not on the basis of a foolish fancy.
    But the squire had seemed kind, too, in offering her the position of governess. And the squire, God rot his soul, had had the same look in his eyes before he had…
    She shivered again, feeling cold, despite the sun beating down on the back of her neck.
    Sometimes, in the dark of night, when the wind rattled her casement window, and the dower house creaked and groaned like an aged woman with the rheumatiks in her joints, she hoped in the black and bitter depths of her wicked heart that she had killed Squire Grantley.
    The rest of the time, she was terrified she had killed him. She had not checked him for a pulse before she left. If she had been guilty of his murder, God would not let her sins remain unpunished. Sooner or later, whether or not the law of man ever caught up with her misdeed, divine retribution would fall on her.
    The gray mare whickered softly and pawed the ground, impatient with being ignored. With a sudden start, Anna brought her mind back to the present. She would not darken the day with her evil remembrances and her even more wicked thoughts. She had a task to perform.
    Giving the mare one last pat, she turned away from her with some regret. She didn’t long to possess the horse herself—she had not the means to keep even a modest hack, let alone a mare fit for the new queen herself to ride. The mare’s spirit, combined with her gentleness, had attracted Anna from the moment she had walked into the marketplace, and she would like to stay and breathe in her soft animal scent longer. But her mother needed a donkey cart.
    She turned away from Lord Ravensbourne and the hungry look in his eyes, and accepted the arm of his uncle, Mr. Melcott, who had materialized at her elbow and was murmuring offers of assistance in her ear. Mr. Melcott, a wool merchant from London who was staying with Lord Ravensbourne for some weeks, had accompanied them both to the small horse market in the nearby village.
    “I know you have some business to transact,” she said to her cousin, dismissing him as politely as she could to escape from his unnerving gaze. “Do not let me delay you. Mr. Melcott has offered to help me conduct mine.”
    Lord Ravensbourne looked black at her words, but, after a long moment of silence, he nodded. “Send the footman to find me when you are done. Melcott, you know where I am.” And he strode away without another word.
    Mr. Melcott tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, just as her father had done when he had been alive. “You like the mare?” he asked her, his voice grave.
    “Who would not?” she answered lightly. “But she would not do for my purposes. She is far too well-bred to lower herself to pull a donkey cart. I doubt her pride would suffer her to be harnessed to such an indignity. She would kick up her heels and off with her traces in no time at all.”
    “You are too pretty a young lady to ride in a cart. Were you my daughter, I should give you a carriage to ride in, and fine jewels to wear.”
    She was little pleased at the implied criticism of her father. Besides, she disliked the tone in his voice. “Better ride in a cart than have to walk.”
    Melcott, with his sober black woolen cloak, his tall-crowned hat and the plain buckles on his black shoes, dressed just as her father had done. With his weather-beaten face and slightly hooked nose, he even looked a bit like her beloved father. In temperament, however, they were far apart. Her father had been loving and gentle, while Melcott seemed distant and at times severe.
    Melcott had returned to Norfolk, the place of his birth, to remove himself for a while from the dissipations of the king and his new court in London. During his time in London, Melcott had built himself up as a prosperous wool merchant and was now